


the warp and weft of your being

by tardigradeschool



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Crew as Family, F/F, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, past implied abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 14:58:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8757136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardigradeschool/pseuds/tardigradeschool
Summary: When getting legally married to Spock is the only way to keep him on the ship, Jim is more than willing to do so. (In fact, upon reflection, it turns out that there are very few things he wouldn't do for Spock.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Imogen Heap's Xizi She Knows.

Jim must be getting old, because he legitimately thinks he might be having a heart attack when he opens the Starfleet memo. The only thing that stops him from calling Bones is how goddamn embarrassing it would be to die like this. At a certain point, if this is how he goes, this is how he goes.

After he’s established that he is probably not having a medical emergency, he gets up to comm Spock. There’s no guarantee that Spock is on the ship, but he’s never been especially enthusiastic about shore leave, particularly on planets as humid as this one. Sure enough, Jim’s only halfway across his room when someone knocks on the door. 

It should be pathetic that he knows who it is by the knock. He’s trying not to think about it. When he opens the door, Spock brushes right past him and his weak attempt at a congratulatory smile. 

“Spock,” Jim says, before Spock can say anything. “You deserve this. You’re going to be great.” 

“Did you recommend me?” Spock asks. He’s purposely making himself hard to read. Jim isn’t sure what he wants to hear, so he just tells the truth.

“No,” he confesses. “Not exactly. I just told Starfleet what a fantastic commander you are. Just the truth.” He decides that  _ I’m happy for you _ wouldn’t be too convincing and settles on: “You’ll be an amazing captain.”

“That does not change the fact that I do not wish to be one,” Spock says, a little sharpness slipping through. “In fact, I have no intention of leaving this ship.”

Jim feels something loosen slightly in his chest. “You don’t?”

Spock eyes him. “When have I ever indicated a wish to become a captain? My current position suits me, and I am wholly satisfied with my placement on the Enterprise.”

Jim takes a deep breath, lets his PADD drop onto his desk. “I admit, that’s good to hear. But.” He meets Spock’s eyes. “I don’t think Starfleet will take no for an answer. They’re running a little short on qualified captains, and you’re an obvious choice.”

Spock’s jaw tightens. “I have made my wishes clear to them. I prefer the ability to focus on my scientific responsibilities.”

“I’m sorry,” Jim says, and he means it. God, he means it. “I can’t think of anything to keep you from promotion that won’t get you kicked out of Starfleet.”

“Then we are fortunate,” Spock says slowly, “that one of us is quite practiced in Starfleet regulations. I believe I may have… a solution, if we are agreed that my absence from the Enterprise would be regrettable and possibly disastrous.”

Jim squints at him. Spock is getting the look he normally reserves for the moment before trouncing Bones in some squabble. “Spock?”

“Regulation 261,” Spock says. 

For a second Jim is stuck on Regulation 621 (no public nudity) and then it clicks. “Spock, you genius bastard,” he says. “But you would have to lie. I thought Vulcans didn’t-”

“Vulcans don’t,” Spock agrees. “But I have recently been coming to terms with my heritage, and I find my human side has few qualms about false implications.”

“Good to know, Mr. Spock,” Jim says, and grins at him, offering an arm. “Shall we?”

“I believe we shall,” Spock says, and Jim swears there’s amusement in those dark eyes.

 

Spock is the one to actually write the appeal. Of course, the relative eloquence of the appeal is unimportant; their real weapon is the marriage certificate that they scan and send in with it. Starfleet might have noticed a fake, but it’s real, complete with a grudging Bones’s signature as witness. 

The actual ceremony was brief, partly for convenience, partly for the sake of Spock’s comfort; the sauna-like nature of the planet they’re orbiting makes it quite unpleasant for him to remain there for any significant length of time. 

Pike gets back to them even faster than Jim expects. 

The first thing he says when the video connection is established is, “You son of a bitch.”

“Sir?” Jim asks.

“You lost me the pool!” Pike says. “I thought you idiots would take another couple years to figure your shit out. You don’t want to know how many credits I lost.”

“Uh, sir?” Jim repeats. “Spock can stay on the ship, right?”

“Yeah,” Pike says, waving a hand. “Yeah, it’ll be arranged. Quarters too. Even with everything else, they wouldn’t separate a married couple.” There’s a smile playing on his mouth. “Congrats, kid.”

“Thanks,” Jim says, then, “Quarters?”

“Yeah,” Pike says. He leans forward, his affected annoyance faded. “Listen, Jim. I know as well as anyone how hard it can be to be out in space alone. I’m glad you don’t have to be.”

Jim thanks him. He feels a little odd, and the feeling stays with him even after he turns off the screen and goes about his day. He’s happy that Pike bought it, of course; he was just anticipating a lot more convincing than turned out to be necessary. 

 

He isn’t sure exactly what he expected to happen, but when Scotty sits down across from him at dinner, he’s frowning deeply. 

“Something wrong?” Jim asks.

In answer, Scotty puts his PADD down between them. The ship assignments are pulled up, with Spock’s unchanged in the center. “Is it true?” Scotty asks, voice low.

“We’ve, ah, taken care of it,” Jim says. “He’s staying here.”

“Aye?” Jim nods and Scotty relaxes. “But how’d you pull it off? The parameters for appeal are so much narrower than they were. An’ Spock’s a prime candidate for captain.” Scotty is studying Jim’s face, and it becomes clear that there isn’t a good explanation beyond the truth.

“The parameters are narrower,” Jim agrees, “But some of them stayed. Like, uh.” He leans forward. Scotty mirrors him, eyes wide. “261.” Scotty doesn’t react, so Jim taps his left ring finger, although he isn’t wearing a ring. “Spock and I…” he says, and Scotty’s mouth falls open. 

“ _ Married _ ?” he squawks, so loudly that several people from other tables glance over, interested. Jim braces himself for the disbelief, but is met only with the demand: “An’  _ why _ wasn’t I invited?”

“It was a private thing,” Jim says hastily. “Vulcans and their privacy, you know. No one here knows except us and Bones.” And now the people at the surrounding tables, who have been listening intently. “I swear, Scotty, we would have invited you.”  _ If it weren’t fake _ .

“Oh,” Scotty says, obviously appeased. He glances back at Jim’s hand. “You’ve got no rings, though.”

“It was last week, Scotty. It was kind of sudden. We didn’t have time.” Jim hadn’t even thought of that; if no one on the ship knew, there was no reason to put on any show. However, it looks like that’s no longer the case. Jim feels slightly guilty. Spock’s plan was to keep him from getting moved of the ship, but he hadn’t signed up for public scrutiny. “I gotta go,” he says. “See you later.”

Scotty nods. “Say hello to Mr. Spock for me, then,” he says, and he  _ winks _ .

 

To Jim’s surprise, Spock is unconcerned with the gossip that is doubtless spreading at that very moment. 

“You’re not worried about having to put on an act?” Jim reaches over, takes Spock’s bishop. Spock seems unconcerned with that too. The rec area is mostly deserted, save a few young crewmembers who are far too preoccupied with each other to listen in.

“Not particularly,” Spock says. “If anyone asks us if we’re married, a positive answer will not, in fact, be a lie, and any lack of public affection can easily be written off as the product of my Vulcan preferences, or perhaps some degree of professionalism.”

“Good point,” Jim says. “You don’t find people thinking we’re together strange, though?”

Jim suspects that if he weren’t so stiff, Spock would shrug. “Not particularly,” he says. “Do you find it, as you say, strange?”

Actually, the thing that Jim finds strange is how Spock doesn’t find it strange. It was Spock’s idea, of course, but Jim is used to being the one with the outlandish ideas. “Just worried people won’t buy you snagging someone so out of your league,” he says. 

“It is heartening to see that you’ve retained a measure of imagination even past childhood,” Spock says mildly, and Jim doesn’t bother concealing his snort. The ensign couple looks over at that, but Spock doesn’t seem to notice, so Jim ignores them as best he can. 

 

Jim tricks himself into thinking that news hasn’t gotten the crew until two days later when he goes back to his room at the end of the day and is greeted by an alarmingly loud cheer upon entry. 

Blinking at the noise, Jim finds himself being ushered inside his own quarters, the telltale sounds of champagne being opened obvious even under the noisy congratulations. Nearly his entire senior staff and bridge crew are there, including Bones, who is nursing one of Scotty’s more suspicious brews and seems less than remorseful when Jim catches his eye. 

Spock takes his arm, murmuring, “The crew has taken it upon themselves to throw us a reception.”

“I can see,” Jim says. 

“Well, if we’re going to be left out of the engagement we thought it was only fair,” Sulu says, smiling widely. Chekov is bouncing beside him, also smiling. He’s holding a glass of what is either water or vodka, and Jim is not quite confident enough in the responsibility of his crew to be certain of its contents.

“I’ve got a surprise!” Scotty says, and thrusts a small box at him. “You two still hadn’t gotten rings, and I thought, well, we’re takin’ some bolts off today, an’ it was no trouble to melt ‘em down, so.” He beams at them merrily. 

Jim stares at the wedding rings in his hand, momentarily speechless. 

“Thank you, Mr. Scott,” Spock says, when it becomes clear Jim isn’t going to say anything. “Very considerate of you.” He plucks one of the rings from Jim’s palm and slips it easily onto a finger. 

“Yes, yes, thank you, Scotty,” Jim says, coming back to himself and doing the same. Their marriage is fake, of course, it’s all fake, and he should feel worse about lying to the crew, but the moderate awe at the thoughtfulness of Scotty’s gesture is overshadowing the guilt. 

 

Later, when most of the partygoers have shuffled off with no less affectionate but significantly more drunken well wishes, Jim goes to pick up one of the more pathetically trampled streamers and finds himself face to face with Uhura. 

“Lieutenant,” he says. He’s more sober than most of his guests were, but, it seems, less sober than Uhura. It occurs that it might have been unenjoyable hear the news of her ex-boyfriend’s engagement to him secondhand. “Listen, I was going to-”

She waves a hand. “Spock talked to me. There’s no hard feelings. I’m happy for you two.” She seems to really mean it, and now that Jim’s really looking at her, she looks generally content in a way he can’t remember seeing her in a long time, maybe ever. 

“Thanks,” he says. It seems like it’s been a long time since he talked to her, and it takes him a moment to figure out why. “I haven’t seen you at meals lately, have I?”

“I’ve been eating in the medical offices, mostly.”

“For the sterile surfaces or for the charmingly cantankerous company?”

She gives him a smile that borders on mischievous. “Have you met a Christine Chapel?”

“ _ Have  _ I?” Jim says. “When I broke my leg, I tried to stand up once, _ once _ , and she strapped me to the bed. I’m sure the two of you would get along swimmingly.” He catches her look. “Or maybe you  _ are _ getting along swimmingly?”

“Something like that,” she says. Jim hasn’t seen her hold a smile this long before. He isn’t sure if it’s because she’s genuinely happier or because she only feels comfortable with him now that he’s married, and he also isn’t sure which option is sadder. 

“That’s great,” he says. 

“It is,” she agrees. Jim starts to turn away and she catches his arm. “Wait. I, uh. I have something to ask you. This is going to seem like a really petty question, but-”

“I am more than familiar with petty,” Jim says. “Ask away.”

“You and Spock,” she says, and Jim thinks, shit, she’s figured it out, Uhura is way too sharp to buy the whole marriage thing- “I really am happy for you, but I feel like it’s fair to ask if you guys were ever together when I was with Spock.” 

She’s chewing on her lip, and Jim is so struck by shock at the question that he completely forgets to feel guilty about the lie of his marriage.

“ _ No _ ,” he says at once. “No,  _ never _ -”

She immediately looks relieved, and a little bit contrite. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume anything, or accuse you at all- you guys have been really close for a while, and I guess I just wondered-”

“No, of course,” Jim says quickly. “I don’t blame you. But we never… I mean, even if- well. Spock would never have done that to you.”

“He’s a good man,” Uhura agrees. “A good Vulcan.” She seems to lose a little of her tension; her smile from before returns a little. “I think the two of you are good for each other.”

“I- thank you,” Jim says, a little lost for what to say, but Uhura doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Have a good night, Captain,” she says, and then she leans in and kisses him on the cheek, like they’re in-laws saying goodbye at a family dinner. Jim has a sudden vision of himself in his old age, settled on some warm planet, sitting beside Spock and Uhura and discussing politics over wine. It startles him, not simply how open he is to the idea but the depth with which he finds himself missing that imaginary future. 

“You too, Lieutenant,” he begins to say, but she’s already left.

 

Jim is pleasantly surprised when the ambassador, who up until that point had been cordial but not forward, slides her hand up Jim’s arm in a way that can’t be misinterpreted. But despite her undeniable beauty, Jim finds himself not really feeling it. 

Politely, as though he somehow didn’t catch her meaning, Jim tries to excuse himself. She catches his shoulder, grip strong. 

“Captain,” she says. Her eyes are dark, not quite blue and not quite black. “Perhaps my intentions were unclear.”

“Not at all,” he assures her. “I didn’t mean offense. You’re lovely, Ambassador, and I would be lucky.” Jim remembers, suddenly, the reverence with which her culture treats a romantic bond. “I’m married,” he says, and it isn’t a lie. “I wouldn’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

“My mistake,” she says, letting go and inclining her head. “I intended no disrespect.” She takes the remaining glass of wine from a nearby platter and offers it to Jim in apology. Against his better judgement, Jim drains the glass. It’s stronger than he thought it would be.

“Not at all,” Jim repeats. He feels slightly melancholy for some reason (possibly related to the not insignificant quantities of alcohol he’s already had), and so he tells her to have a good night and heads out of the room. The socializing will go on for another couple hours, but he thinks he’s justified in getting a breath of air before he has to return to the crowded room. As he gets into the hallway, Spock materializes at his side. 

“Your actions were unnecessary,” he says. Jim frowns at him and he elaborates: “I doubt the admiralty would find out or care if you were perceived to be unfaithful. I would not expect you to limit your ventures for the sake of my continued presence on the Enterprise.”

“Oh,” Jim says. “No, I just wanted to get out of there for a second. Had a little too much to drink, you know.” There’s no reason for the faint insult he’s feeling; if anything, Spock’s being courteous. 

“Only one of us is required in the meeting,” Spock says. “If you’re feeling unwell, I suggest you return to your quarters.”

“You sound like Bones,” Jim says, chuckling. He would refuse, except the idea of lying down with his eyes closed is so tempting he feels a little dizzy. “Would it be terrible to leave you here alone?”

“Certainly not,” Spock says, and when Jim doesn’t move, he says, more firmly, “As they say to children: go to bed, Captain.”

Jim gives him a little salute. “Yessir, Commander.” 

Satisfied, Spock slips back into the gathering, and Jim, still feeling slightly unsteady, begins towards his quarters. He isn’t sure what’s bothering him; there’s no reason Spock’s assumption of his intent with the ambassador should offend. Jim has long had a certain reputation, one not entirely unfounded, and Spock had no occasion to deduce differently. 

It does irk him that Spock assumes Jim wouldn’t give that up if he had to. If it were a matter of keeping Spock on the ship, well. It wouldn’t be a question. There are very few things Jim wouldn’t be willing to give up for that cause.

Jim is distracted from this somewhat alarming train of thought by passing out in the middle of the corridor, two-thirds of the way to his quarters. 

 

Bones can’t justifiably blame this one on Jim, but that doesn’t stop him from grumbling his way around the bed as he comes to check on him. Jim feels fine now, but he guesses he would be pretty alarmed if it were his friend found roofied in a random hallway mere hours earlier. The ambassador had apologized at length, despite Jim’s assurances that it wasn’t her fault that one of the more reprehensible Orion assistants had tried to drug her.

“The guy’s in the brig,” Jim reminds him, and Bones snorts. Jim suspects it isn’t a directed anger, just a general vexation with the universe. He’s been there. “You done poking?”

“You can go,” Bones says, grudgingly. “Take the day, sleep it off.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Jim says, moving to put his shoes on. He glances around sickbay. “Kinda can’t believe my  _ husband _ isn’t here to escort me back.” He means it as a joke, but Bones’s frown becomes more pronounced. 

“You know, he was the one who found you. Carried you here. I had to threaten him to send him off.”

“Oh,” Jim says. “That is pretty husbandy.” He’s still sort of kidding, but Bones doesn’t laugh.

“It surely is,” he says. “Want me to walk you?”

Jim shakes his head. “Nah, I got it. No fainting until I get to my room. Seems simple enough.”

Bones snorts again, and Jim makes his way out of sickbay. It’s only when he gets to the spot where he had lost consciousness that it occurs to him to wonder what Spock had been doing in this particular corridor; he can’t think of anywhere Spock would have been going that might have brought him this way.

 

When Jim finds himself unable to get into his room, he’s thinking about computer malfunctions, not Pike’s promise of quarters. He ends up consulting the map on his PADD and finding, indignantly, that he’s been assigned new quarters. He doesn’t get it until he checks a second time and sees another resident listed: Spock. 

The new quarters would bother him more if they weren’t massive to the point of extravagance. Even Spock gazes around them with an expression that might be interpreted as impressed. 

“I suspect they combined the square footage of our two rooms.”

“I suspect this room is pretty great,” Jim counters. The bed is probably four times wider than his bed in the Academy and easily twice the bed in his current room. There are two closets, two desks, two bedside tables, and one shower.

“We can take turns,” Jim declares. “Spock, we’re keeping it. It would look suspicious if we didn’t.”

“Surely.” Spock is watching him with amusement. “I was not going to attempt to persuade you otherwise, but your enthusiasm is… entertaining.”

Jim cheerfully ignores him. “I like the right side of the bed,” he says, and then busies himself with exploring the cabinets.

 

Oddly, not that much changes about their lives after the room shift. At this point, there isn’t a soul on the ship that isn’t aware of his and Spock’s marriage, and judging by the looks he got the one time he made the mistake of walking to breakfast with bedhead, most of them seem to think they’re having sex too. Which would be, after all, a pretty fair assumption of a married couple. 

After the first few arguments about Jim’s inability to fold his clothing and Spock’s tendency to wake up at ungodly hours, it’s as if nothing ever changed. They had already spent a number of their off-duty hours with each other, and the move simply means that their discussion of twenty-second century philosophy lasts several more hours than it might have before. The temperature debate lasts a couple weeks, but eventually they settle on a temperature that only requires Jim to lose one layer and Spock to gain one. 

Spock technically needs less sleep than Jim does, but Jim is and always has been an insomniac, and so they often stay up; Spock stationed at his desk, Jim sitting up in bed. It’s companionable in a way that Jim hasn’t experienced since his Academy days with Bones, except that it’s also somehow entirely different. 

The first real snag comes almost three weeks in, though with the frequency of Jim’s nightmares, it could easily have been sooner. Jim, who is well-versed in waking up shaking and covered in sweat, rolls out of bed and stumbles to the bathroom. Blinking at the light, he reaches for the sink, taking comfort in the cold solidity of the basin. 

His heart rate has almost slowed to normal when Spock says, “Jim?”

“Shit, sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It is of no consequence,” Spock says. To Jim’s relief, it doesn’t sound like he’s getting up. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Jim says. “Yeah, bad dream, that’s all.” He turns off the light, moving back into the bedroom. With his eyes adjusting, Spock is just a dark shape in the bed, but as he gets closer he can see him frowning at him. 

“Vulcans do not dream,” Spock says. 

“I think I knew that.” Jim sits, but doesn’t lie down yet, still waiting for the last of the adrenaline to fade.

“I dream sometimes.” Spock’s voice is quiet, and it sounds like a confession. “Less now, but when I was a child, it was a secret shame.” He pauses. “I dream about Vulcan sometimes, the way it was.”

“Oh,” Jim says. “I’m sorry.” There isn’t much else to say. 

“What were you dreaming about?” Spock asks.

Jim almost doesn’t tell him - the  _ fuck off  _ is instinctual now when it comes to people asking about Frank - but then his eyes adjust to the dark a little better and he sees the look on Spock’s face. “Just my asshole of a stepfather,” he says, neglecting to mention the part where he had been dying of radiation again, but with Frank instead of Spock on the other side of the partition. He moves to lie down, and as he does, his arm brushes against Spock’s hand. He barely registers it, but Spock’s hand twitches like he’s been shocked.

Jim is close to sleep when Spock, who has settled closer on their huge bed than he normally does, says, almost too quietly to hear. “It is illogical, but I find myself wishing your childhood had played out differently.”

“Hey, me too,” Jim says. “But I ended up here anyway, didn’t I?”

“I am thankful you did,” Spock says, even more quietly, and that’s the end of that.

 

Spock has determined that nothing is wrong with the communicator, which means that either the Enterprise has left, been destroyed, or something is preventing them from making a connection. Jim hopes to god it’s the last one, because he’s fairly certain Bones would commit mutiny before allowing the ship to leave orbit without them.

“I have a theory,” Spock says, snapping Jim out of reflection. “I suspect the delay we experienced before being beamed down may be related to our isolation.”

“Go on.”

“I propose that there is a force, either manufactured or natural, that prevents us from making contact and the Enterprise from locating us.”

“Logical,” Jim says, and he thinks he sees a quirk of Spock’s eyebrow in response. “Any theories on exactly what it is or how to break through it?”

Spock uses a gloved hand to gesture at the sky. “The clouds. The only place uncovered by clouds was the city, where we were able to beam down.” The clouds are shrouding the city once again, and even if they were still parted, Jim doubts they could sneak back into the city without guard-related injury or death.

Slowly, Jim nods. “But are the clouds a product of your unnamed force, or are they creating the force themselves?”

“We have no way of knowing,” Spock says. “But the most sensible course of action would be towards-”

“-the mountain,” Jim finishes. “I agree.” He turns to peer at it, the snowy peak disappearing promisingly into the gray mass of clouds above them. “Zip up your coat, Mr. Spock. It’s going to get cold.”

This turns out to be an understatement; several hours later, they have covered what Spock deems a satisfactory number of miles, and the temperature has dropped to significantly below what Jim, an Iowa native, finds comfortable. Spock’s face is the picture of unruffled, but Jim suspects most of it is stoicism for his sake.

“I’m making an executive decision,” he says, moving towards an indent in the side of the mountain that will protect them from the biting wind. “We’re stopping now. If it gets much darker one of us might fall in a crevasse.”

To his mild surprise, Spock complies wordlessly, setting down his pack and sitting beside it to rummage for food. In addition to their somewhat pathetic rations, he pulls out a medkit. Before Jim can ask if he’s injured, he produces a small bag of hyposprays.

“Doctor McCoy gave these to me in case I found myself in too much discomfort in this climate,” he says. “I was concerned that this species’ preference for lower temperatures might make it difficult for me to concentrate during diplomatic meetings. They raise one’s tolerance to the cold.” There are four: one for each day they had planned to stay on the planet.

“Sweet,” Jim says. The temperature is decreasing rapidly now, and he finds himself shivering even in his regulation jacket. Spock hands him one of the hyposprays, pulling out another for himself.

They eat their tasteless dinner mostly in silence. Jim tries to estimate how long it will take them to get to the top of the mountain; the steepness of the peak makes it difficult to tell distance. If they keep up their pace, he thinks they could get there by the next evening. The prospect of a day of walking uphill in the cold is unappealing, but not so much as dying here in the snow.

Jim is about to offer Spock this estimate when he actually looks at him. Spock is flushed, with his legs drawn up to his body in an attempt to retain warmth. He’s concealing what must be misery well, but the set of his mouth, the tightness around his eyes make it clear. It’s then that Jim fully processes it, the repercussions of these temperatures on a Vulcan body.

“Spock,” he says. Spock looks at him, and Jim motions for him to move closer. When he’s next to Jim, Jim unzips his own coat.

“Captain,” Spock says, unsure.

“You know, you should really stop calling me that off-duty,” Jim says. “I heard Sulu and Chekov wondering whether or not you do that in bed. Come on.”

They end up with Jim on his back, Spock’s arms wrapped around Jim’s torso under his coat, his body blocking the cold air that Jim’s coat had kept out before. It isn’t the most comfortable configuration, but Jim doesn’t mind as long as Spock doesn’t lose his fingers to frostbite.

“Adequate?” he asks.

“Certainly,” Spock says. His forehead rests on Jim’s collarbone. Looking down at the top of Spock’s head, Jim feels a sudden, almost overwhelming rush of affection, an instinct to protect that is almost alarming in its ferocity. A few snowflakes settle in Spock’s dark hair, and as Jim leans his head back to look at the snow falling from the darkening sky, he wonders if Spock can feel that his heart is beating faster than usual.

 

They’re up bright and early the next morning, Jim valiantly ignoring the twist of hunger in his gut, the numbness that has permeated his toes and his ears. Overnight, the snow froze over, creating a thin layer of ice that one must punch through with their foot before taking another step. Jim’s legs begin to ache from this repeated action.

He should have spotted it right away, should have looked beyond his own tribulations, but it’s only mid morning when Spock’s lagging becomes really noticeable. Jim doesn’t realize the extent of it until he glances over and finds Spock several steps behind, half hunched over, breathing hard.

“Spock?”

“I simply need a moment, Captain,” he says, the slight roughness to his words betraying what his even tone does not.

Against his better judgment, Jim sets the pace slower, but even that exertion seems extensive for Spock, who is clearly growing more frustrated with his inability to keep up. The wind gets worse as the afternoon begins. It becomes increasingly clear that Jim’s estimate for their arrival was conservative by several hours. This wouldn’t be a problem except for a) Spock’s condition, b) their quickly shrinking food supply, and c) the hypo, which is wearing off.

In the late afternoon, the sky is darkening and Spock – who has always moved with a certain grace – slips on some hidden ice and doesn’t immediately get up. By the time Jim makes his way to his side, he is attempting to lean back on his elbows.

“Fuck, are you okay?” Jim grabs Spock arm and finds that he is shivering violently.

“My condition is – not ideal,” Spock manages, and it’s such an understatement that Jim almost laughs. He moves to grab one of the two remaining hypos out of Spock’s bag; they’re definitely going to run out by the time they get there, but Spock is hypothermic _ now _ and something has to be done.

With surprising strength for the state he’s in, Spock catches his wrist. “Jim,” he says hoarsely. “You are going to dislike the plan I suggest-”

“So don’t suggest it-”

“-but I ask that you listen to me.” Spock takes a steadying breath. “At our previous rate, we will reach the top no sooner than tomorrow morning, if we walked through the night. It is highly doubtful I can maintain even that pace, as I am currently uncertain of my ability even to stand. The hypospray would be wasted on me.”

“Spock-”

“Please, Jim.” Spock is gripping his wrist more tightly. “It would be a violation of both my principles and my wishes to allow you to give up your chances at survival for what is most certainly a fruitless labor.”

Jim is surprised by the heat of the tears gathering in his eyes, a product of his exhaustion and the growing distress he can feel settling in his stomach next to the hunger. Infuriated, he scrubs his free hand over his eyes. “Don’t be stupid, Spock,” he says. “I’m not leaving you here.”

“Jim,” Spock repeats, as though he just hasn’t yet discovered the right combination of words to make him understand.

“I can’t let you die.”

“Nor I you.”

“Spock, stop-”

“It is  _ illogical _ ,” Spock says emphatically, something approximating desperation seeping through in his voice. He reaches out to Jim and Jim has a moment of overpowering  déjà vu . A different snowy planet, yes, a different Spock reaching toward him-

This Spock, though, his Spock, places a shaking hand on his jaw, not the side of his face. The chill in Spock’s fingers make him have to suppress a shudder. For a heart stopping moment, Jim thinks Spock is going to kiss him, but he just looks at him, hair dusted with snow, his dark eyes seemingly the only variation in the white expanse surrounding them. “Please,” he repeats.

Jim shakes his head. “Spock,” he says. “When have I ever been logical?” With his free hand, Jim reaches into his own pack, discarded beside them. Before Spock can react, he extracts one of his own hypos – one of the ones he usually neglects to use for his insomnia – and presses it into Spock’s neck.

“Bones doesn’t just give drugs to  _ you _ ,” he tells Spock as the grip on his wrist loosens, as Spock’s eyes widen in betrayal and begin to lose focus. Before Spock loses consciousness, Jim almost apologizes, except he isn’t actually sorry.

He also gives Spock both of the remaining temperature hypos – Spock is going to  _ murder _ him if they both survive this, but it will be worth it – before standing up and hoisting him onto his shoulders. In that moment, Jim is thoroughly thankful for the regularity with which Sulu kicks his ass in fencing; if it weren’t for those semi-frequent workouts, this plan wouldn’t even have the sliver of a chance it does now.

Jim loses track of how long he’s been walking. His legs start to burn almost as soon as he starts, but the pain is a good distraction from the cold. He hasn’t had full feeling in his toes since that morning, and he occupies himself thinking of the profanities Bones will yell at him if he has to amputate any of them.

Spock is heavy, but no heavier than he’d anticipated, and within a couple miles Jim finds himself not even registering the weight anymore. The worst is when he has to readjust Spock on his shoulders and feel the stiffness worsening in his back. He wants to put Spock down, rest for a moment, but he’s sure that if he does he won’t be able to pick him up again.

It becomes darker and foggier as he walks, but Jim can’t afford to lose concentration. If he falls now and breaks something, he and Spock will both be dead. Distantly, he’s aware that the fog is actually clouds, and that he must be getting close. The air, which is thinner than Earth’s to begin with, has become insufficient, and he can’t stop himself from wheezing on when he exhales.

When the clouds finally begin clear, it’s dark enough that he can barely see ahead, but he keeps staggering forward. When he’s absolutely certain they’re beyond the clouds, he slowly, carefully lowers Spock to the ground, unable to hold back a groan at his protesting muscles.. Sinking to his knees beside Spock’s unconscious body, he pulls off his glove with his teeth, picks his communicator out of the pocket of his jacket and flips it open with trembling fingers. 

“Kirk to Enterprise.”

Jim could kiss Uhura for the rapidity with which she responds. “Enterprise here, Captain, Mr. Scott waiting to beam you up.”

“Scotty?”

“Here, sir,” Scotty says, and next to Uhura’s steady professionalism he sounds especially relieved, “Here we go.”

Jim lets the communicator fall from his hand. He had been aching all over, the cold burning every exposed inch of skin, but he finds himself suddenly unconcerned with that. The transporter is locked onto them now, but just to make sure, Jim reaches over and gets a hold of Spock, pulling him closer, just to confirm he’s there.

He is, so Jim feels okay about blacking out.

 

“You know, even I forgot it was an act for a minute there,” Bones says as he scans Jim for what must be the fourth time that hour. 

“Bones,” Jim says chidingly. Bones shakes his head.

“I’m serious, Jim,” he says. “Would you have carried just any crewmember that far? No, don’t answer that, I know you would. We need to talk about your complexes sometime. But you wouldn’t have been holding onto ‘em like that, that’s for sure.”

“Maybe if it was you,” Jim teases, but Bones just glares. 

 

Jim is dozing when he hears the noise outside.

“I’m sorry, Commander, Dr. McCoy specifically ordered that no one-”

“Ah yes,” Spock says, and Jim barely masks a snicker; an angry Spock is a rival for a first-class battleship. His voice is deeper than normal, veiled disdain in every syllable. “I understand. I’m sure the good doctor is in the habit of keeping crewmembers from their  _ husbands _ .” He emphasizes the last word and Jim, startled, barely hides his surprise before Spock strides in.

Spock looks thunderous, which is probably justified. Jim can only imagine how pissed he would be if the situation was reversed. 

“Mr. Spock,” he says. “Good to see you doing well.”

“Indeed,” Spock says, bordering on cold. 

“I’m not sorry,” Jim says preemptively. “I know it was an asshole thing to do, but I’m not sorry. I can’t regret keeping you safe.”

“Perhaps you should, when that safety comes at the expense of your own.” Spock is stiff; he ignores Jim’s gesture for him to sit down. “Despite how frequently you seem unaware of it, you are the captain, and you must place some value on your own life.”

“I’m the captain,” Jim agrees. “It’s my job to keep the crew safe. That includes you.”

Spock’s jaw tightens. “Captain-”

“I won’t apologize,” Jim says, and Spock goes furiously silent. “You can yell at me tomorrow all you want,” Jim promises. “But right now I’m going to finish my nap.”

After a moment, Spock says, “That is acceptable,” and sits down in the chair, as if he wants to make sure Jim won’t escape during the night. When it becomes clear that he has no intention of going, Jim pulls his blanket up and goes back to sleep. 

 

Bones allows him back into his quarters the next day. Jim is certain Bones could have let him go sooner; the tissue damage wasn’t half as serious as it could have been and Jim can, in fact, feed himself. 

Spock walks him back. It’s unclear if he’s been ordered by Bones to act as a security guard in case Jim decides to keel over or if he just wants an excuse to be silently resentful in the corner of Jim’s vision. The coldness has worn off a little since the night before, which Jim is grateful for. He’s willing to weather Spock’s disapproval if necessary, but he would prefer not to. 

Despite his assurances to Bones, Jim is still pretty exhausted, and when they get back to the room, he climbs into bed, even though it’s only 1700. He expects Spock to go back to his own business, to the bridge or the labs, but Spock wordlessly sits down at his desk.

Jim fully intends to get up for dinner, but when he wakes up, it’s 0200 and his heart is racing like he just sprinted a mile. Jim sucks in a breath, pushing himself up until he’s sitting up fully. 

Spock stirs beside him. “Jim?” 

“It’s nothing,” Jim says, which is almost not a lie. “A dream. Go back to sleep.”

Spock sits up slowly. “What was its focus?”

“Not sure,” Jim says, which absolutely is a lie. The clarity with which he can recall it is a little alarming: Spock in the snow, slowly disappearing, Spock vanishing under a wave of lava, Spock behind the glass instead of him. 

“It is not uncommon to experience disorientation after a harrowing event,” Spock says. He hesitates. “I myself was disoriented after-”

“After Vulcan, you told me.”

Spock looks at him, the darkness softening the angles of his face. “I intended to speak of your… temporary death.”

“Ah,” Jim says, unsure whether to be sorry or touched. “I’m sorry.” The distress has given way to the exhaustion from earlier. 

There is a long pause. “I do not believe I thanked you for your actions several days ago,” Spock says. “I would, however, request that you refrain from repeating them.”

“Thanks are illogical,” Jim points out.

“They are,” Spock agrees, meeting his eyes. “But I have found that many illogical things are of great value nonetheless.”

“Spock,” Jim says. Spock hasn’t looked away; Jim’s heart seems to have experienced only a brief respite from pounding. The moment seems frozen, almost unreal, Jim’s breath catches a little in his throat.

It is, possibly, stupidity brought on by oxygen deprivation that prompts Jim’s next action.

He kisses him. 

 

Bones may grumble, but opening the door at a ridiculous hour is a mark of a true friend. He’s a little rumpled, but he seems amused rather than worried at the sight of Jim at his door.

“You in the doghouse or something?” he drawls, moving aside to let Jim inside.

Jim grimaces. “Something like that.”

“Spock still pissed?”

“Well, yeah,” Jim says. “But he might be double pissed now.”

Bones squints at him. “What did you do?”

Jim would take offense at the assumption that it’s somehow his fault, but in this case it’s an accurate guess. Jim sighs, sinks onto the edge of Bones’s bed. “I kissed him.”

Bones’s face twitches in a way that Jim would ordinarily find thoroughly entertaining. He can’t place it exactly, but he would dissect it as a combination of mystification, slight horror, slight sympathy, and slight outrage. “You what,” he says finally.

“Yeah,” Jim says. “Look, Bones, I - I don’t know.” 

“Alright,” Bones says, sitting down beside him. “Well, what did he do?”

Jim scowls at him. “What do you think he did? He didn’t say anything and then I realized that I’m a fucking idiot.” He reaches to his side, then remembers he didn’t grab anything from the room. “Can I borrow your PADD to pull up divorce papers?”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Bones says, handing it to him. “If you get divorced, won’t they transfer him?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he preferred that,” Jim says, fresh regret curling like nausea in the pit of his stomach. He sets the PADD aside, resting his head in his hands. “ _ Fuck _ .”

Bones puts a conciliatory hand on his shoulder, unusually accommodating. “Jim, I’m sure it isn’t as bad as that. Just go talk to him - at a more reasonable hour, of course - and tell him it was just a mistake. That you were just confused or something.”

Jim shakes his head, chest tight. “Can’t. Vulcans are touch telepaths. So he knows that-” Jim stops.

“That?” Bones says, and then he gets it. “Jim,” he says, half accusatory, half disbelieving. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” Jim says, and he laughs a little, too quietly to be hysteric, something small and sharp that gets caught halfway up his throat, jamming up the way. 

Bones pats his shoulder again, a little uselessly. When his attempts to give Jim the bed are rejected, he clears him a space on the floor. 

 

Jim seriously considers just never going back to the room. He’s the captain; he can ask for a couple new uniforms and a PADD without recriminations. Everything else - toothbrush, toothpaste, razor - he can replace with no trouble. Hacking into his old room is almost disturbingly easy. Yet, when he finds himself standing in the bare room, the emptiness is so disheartening that Jim has no choice but to go back.

He picks a time when Spock is always in the labs to go, armed with a couple boxes and a lot of bitter resignation. He gets about halfway into throwing his uniform shirts into a box before he hears the door slide open and freezes. 

“Captain,” Spock says evenly behind him. 

“Mr. Spock,” Jim says, resolutely not turning around. “I’ll be out of your hair in a couple minutes, just wanted to grab my things.”

“Unnecessary,” Spock says, and something inside Jim twists.

“Spock,” he says. “I’m not going to make you leave. It was my fault.”

“Jim,” Spock says. Jim still isn’t looking at him, but he sounds frustrated. “You are aware of the relationship my parents had. Traditionally Vulcans marry according to the arrangements of their parents. My parents did not.”

“I know,” Jim says. Giving up any pretense of still packing, he turns around. “Why-”

“Although I did not understand this until much later, my parents married for love,” Spock says steadily. “It appears that, though I did not intend to, I have done the same.” He pauses. “I would have told you so, if you had not left so quickly.”

There is a long moment where Jim cannot breathe. “Spock,” he says finally, an exhalation, an exaltation. 

An expression Jim cannot fully identify crosses Spock’s face. “If you still wish to move out, I will not stop you.” Jim pushes his box over. The shirts inside tumble halfway onto the floor. Spock glances at them. “Perhaps you would consider folding-”

Something breaks apart inside Jim; a half-laugh falls out of him before he can stop it. Spock looks part startled, part pleased, and when Jim says, “Come here,” he obliges immediately. 

 

“Should we even tell them?” Jim muses later. “Except for Bones, all of them think we’re doing this on the regular.” He turns his head to look at Spock, privately thrilled at the proximity. “I know how Vulcans hate to lie.”

“Mm,” Spock agrees. He shifts slightly closer. “Perhaps, if we simply continue as we have, no lie will be necessary.”

“An excellent plan, Mr. Spock,” Jim says. “Truly excellent.”


End file.
